Although I’m generally a rocker who likes the blues and drifts toward radio music, I’ve been streaming “Ladies’ Night” in my head this week. The impact came from its inclusion in GLOW.
Released in 1979 by Kool and the Gang, I think of “Ladies’ Night” as a disco era staple. More, I thought it captured the essence of that times’ club partying sensibilities. Ladies’ Night was a promotional event to draw in more women by giving them special deals. With more women, more men would be attracted to the club, right? Sure, it’s like honey for bees.
“Ladies’ Night” played to all of that, calling out romantic lady, single baby, and sophisticated mama. These were the people at the disco, right? Come on out, ladies, it’s your night. I regret the song didn’t also address the weary student and hard worker. They were the true partiers.
Besides all of that, I always like the lines, “If you hear any noise, it ain’t the boys, it’s ladies’ night.” Always makes me smile.
I’m streaming the “Logical Song” by Supertramp today. This little ditty was released in 1979. It remains a relevant song to me. As I grew, I thought I understood logic, but learned that logic is rooted in different areas for people. Where their logic has its roots defines how their logic will be applied and the results. This bastardized version of logic often twists compassion, reality, and common sense.
I later read an interview with the songwriter, Roger Hogdson. Some of his comments about what we’re taught as children stayed with me. I found the interview today after thinking about the song, and post some of it here.
This song was born from the questions that haunted me about what is the deeper meaning of life. Throughout childhood, we are told and taught so many things, and yet we are rarely told anything about the purpose of life. We are taught how to function outwardly, but are rarely guided to explore and find out who we are inwardly. From the innocence and wonder of childhood to the confusion of adolescence that often ends in the cynicism and disillusionment of adulthood, so many end their lives having no idea of who they truly are and what they came here to learn. In “The Logical Song,” I ask the fundamental question that is so present in the psyche of today’s modern world but rarely spoken out loud—who are we and what is our true purpose of being here? And that is why I believe it continues to strike a chord in people around the world. I’m continually told how the lyric is often used and discussed in schools, which tells you something.
I think about what and how we’re taught as children. Many of the words thrown at us by adults are tossed from anger, irritation, and frustration. The adults issuing the words rarely realized their comments’ impact on young minds because they were dealing with their life and world issues, and speaking from their frustrations, resentments, and irritations. (I prefer to think that the adults didn’t realize it, and weren’t being callous or deliberate in what they said, knowing what it would do to a young mind.)
But sometimes, there were adults who understood. They were the ones building us up, giving us confidence, and pressing us to read, learn, and think.
I fall into the screaming guitar, thundering drums, and driving bass preferences for rock — or rock and roll, what have you. I’m not thinking about or debating the genres and sub-genres, or rock and roll’s changes across the decades. I know that’s all out there. I’m just talkin’ basics about what I like. Yet, words always draw me in. When you get a band that has the first three elements with interesting words and delivery, I buy.
But this song is mostly about the words. It’s a laid-back song, which is fine. Mellow music has its place. The song’s rhythm and tone invite me to kick back and relax. The lyrics, though, have passages that I think, yeah, I could be speaking those words to someone, or someone could be telling them to me.
The song begins,
I used to hurry a lot, I used to worry a lot
I used to stay out till the break of day
Oh, that didn’t get it
It was high time I quit it
I just couldn’t carry on that way
Later, they ask and conclude,
Did you do it for love?
Did you do it for money?
Did you do it for spite?
Did you think you had to, honey?
Who is gonna make it?
We’ll find out in the long run
(In the long run)
I watched Atomic Blonde, an interesting take on the spy situation in Berlin as the wall was coming down, along with East Germany (GDR), and ultimately, the U.S.S.R. The music was a wonderful compilation of the new wave and punk era sound relating to Europe. Hits from Flock of Seagulls, Nena, After the Fire, Siouxsie and the Banshees, and others were offered. The final song was “London Calling” by the Clash. That’s an intriguing choice, since the song was released in 1979, ten years before the wall fell. I guess it could be seen as a bookend, and some ironic meaning found there, given the events of the movie. I enjoyed the movie, mostly. The violence was a little tedious, but it was a good cast, with Toby Jones, Eddie Marsan, and John Goodman (among others) complementing Charlize Theron and James McAvoy’s roles.
In there to do the morning toilet, I sniffed my pits (I don’t know why, nor why I write it), and said, “Damn, I’m a dirty white boy.” Click. My mind began streaming Foreigner’s “Dirty White Boy” from 1979.
As a felicitous coincidence, the local rock station played the song on the radio as I drove downtown. I thought, “That seals it! The song was predestined to be my theme music today.” Because, you know, coincidences are always omens.
The song came out in 1979. The Pittsburgh Pirates adopted it as their theme song. Led by Willie Stargell, they chased down a World Series championship.
Personally, I ended one life chapter and resumed another. I’d left the military to buy a restaurant and attend college in October, 1978. It didn’t work out well, so I headed back to the military. Preparing to leave for my assignment at Randolph-Brooks AFB in Texas, my car, a signal orange Porsche 914, burned up in the driveway. Terrific. I flew out alone to live in the barracks and save some money. My wife would fly out to join me in a few weeks.
I’d arrived at R-B AFB and was in transient quarters when Pittsburgh took on Baltimore in game seven of the World Series. It was a beautiful fall day in Texas. I listened on the room’s AM/FM clock radio as Pittsburgh won the game and the championship. The following Monday, I resumed my military career and kept going until I retired in 1995.
Thinking about music, I know some music because it pervaded popular culture and the American music, television, and movies. That said….
Ever reach that point where you shout, “Enough is enough!” Then you vow to change things. Change hopefully arises from that determination. As deaths, revelations, and accusations flew after last week’s high school mass murders, this song sprang into my music stream. Two great singers and performers, Donna Summer and Barbra Streisand combined to sing “No More Tears (Enough is Enough)” in 1979, during the peak of the disco phenomena. It starts as a slow ballad, but then erupts into a defiant stance.
I admit, I cringed a little, listening to this. Disco just isn’t my thing. Sorry.
Walking by a church – it’s amazing how many houses of worship this little town sports – I thought, “The devil went down to Ashland, he was looking for a soul to steal.” Of course, he didn’t go to Ashland, but Georgia.
Here’s another of my favorite songs, streaming all the way from 1979, CDB with “The Devil Went Down to Georgia.”
The Clash came to mind today because it’s the anniversary of Sid Vicious’ death. He died of a heroin overdose when he was twenty-one. These facts came together in a tsunami of media concern about punk rock and drugs.
Sid didn’t play on this song, “London Calling,” which came from an album by the same name. The mash up of styles and sounds and social awareness in the songs attracted me, but it wasn’t music normally encountered in the places I frequented or the people I hung out with. That meant I often listened to it alone in the car or at home.
“London Coming” came out 1979. I was stationed at Randolph AFB, San Antonio, Texas, having returned to service after taking a year off to buy a restaurant and go to college. The restaurant didn’t work out and the local economy sucked, so I returned to the military and stayed in another sixteen years.
From late in that magical decade referred to as the nineteen seventies comes this song.
But wait, was the nineteen seventies magical? I suppose it depends on how old you were, and where, right? If you’re a fortunate person, you experience one decade as magical in your life. The seventies are it for me. Moved to Ohio, met my wife, moved to West Virginia, graduated high school, joined the military, relocated to Ohio, bought a Camaro, married, served in the Philippines, sold the Camaro, bought a Porsche and drove across most of America, lived in Texas, quit the military, went back to West Virginia, bought a restaurant, quit the restaurant, lost the Porsche to fire, re-enlisted in the military, went back to Texas and bought a Firebird. It was action backed, and fun.
This song, “Don’t Bring Me Down,” by E.L.O. was part of the musical atmosphere. I find it fun to sing as I walk around, especially all those no, no, no, no passages, and “Grooss,” which I sing as Bruce, as most people do.
Here it is, from nineteen seventy-nine. Things weren’t simpler, just different.
Michael Seidel, writer 